


(Un)Broken

by Naemi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Drama, Fuck Or Die, Mindfuck, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Torture, Object Penetration (Implied), Other, Scarification, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is likely that there are eighteen ways to keep from losing his mind. Remembering one would suffice, but he cannot quite focus anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Un)Broken

**Author's Note:**

> [set some time after 6.25/7.01 events.]

 

_“You look down once more and I will make him send a bullet right through your head, you got that?”_

_She knows that, no matter what else happens, he could never live with_ that _._

_“You hear me, bitch?”_

_She must not place that burden on him._

_“Yes. I understand.”_

~ ~ ~

His head is spinning,

_Too much._

sight blurred,

_Too much!_

but like hell he's going to make a single fucking sound that reveals

_Please stop, don't, I can't—_

his abject terror.

He will not break, refuses to break with all his might, for he knows she wouldn't if she was in his place.

The fact that she witnesses every detail of his humiliation and disgrace increases the horror that chokes his heart, but it also keeps him from yielding.

_Breathe. Never give in. Never give up. Don't let it show._

There's no need to see her

_I am falling apart._

to know the hunting knife is still against her flesh,

_Don't look now, Timmy._

anticipating the chance to demonstrate its talent,

_There are eighteen ways to do anything, McGee._

if only to scare him, for Ziva David cannot possibly be scared by something as ordinary as a knife.

It is likely that there are eighteen ways to keep from losing his mind. Remembering one would suffice, but he cannot quite focus anymore.

_Access denied. Can't do._

The warm blood running down from the laceration above his eyebrow mixes with his sweat and tears, blinding him. He tries not to blink, tries to stare,

_Boss stares you down like no other._

as if a mere second of closing his eyes would worsen the situation, but the situation worsens itself. That's the way things are: a downhill rush that can't be stopped without a crash.

_You cannot take it, McGee, but I am trained to handle this._

His volunteering, however much of a hastily built house of cards, assigns most of the physical pain—the severe, whiplash, knife thrust sort—to him, including the cold barrel of his own SIG not only aiming at him, but

 _Eighteen ways of_ everything, _Ziva?_

touching him in a most peculiar way.

Quite generally spoken, she may be a much stronger person than he ever will, but not now, not after all she's had to face in Somalia not so long ago. It is his duty to protect her,

_Tony will have my balls if I fail._

and he will endure whatever lies ahead, as bravely as possible,

_Please! Don't!_

desperately clinging to the faint hope that they will keep their word and spare her as long as his torment entertains them well enough.

His mind lines his thoughts very incoherently when the gun attempts to seriously violate him,

_One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three, Mississippi. Open your eyes and the nightmare is gone._

the remnants of his sane self retreating in a last feverish attempt to prevent utter destruction.

Pushing, bit-by-bit, relentless. Blood-sticky metal, sweaty palms, teeth clenched too hard, lungs fighting for breath. Unbearable, unspeakable. Impossible. Squirming. Backing away.

 _This is not you, random someone, random victim, all random,_ not you, McGee, _this doesn't happen_ to you!

A hard blow, lips cracking, an unblinking stare, but not. Another blow: gun, face, whimpering. Blood filling his mouth,

_One for the toothfairy._

Ziva finally yelling out: “Stop it!”

 _This does_ the fuck _not happen to you!_

There's no way to have prepared for what is going to come about right now, right here, in this neglected shed with its filth-covered concrete floor. He's shoved down head first, with Ziva crying,

_Hush, little baby,_

or so it seems, for he hears desperate, hiccuped sobs that form words he doesn't understand

_don't say—_

—and there's no sense in Ziva, of all people, breaking.

His hands cushion the impact without his awareness; he's got more to be worried about. Darkness, for example, but not as an actual occurrence. It's more like the feeling of darkness,

_Sweet raptured light and sleeping in a coffin._

but that's not quite right either, not quite what it actually is.

Sudden realization hits him hard. All the preceding suffering fades in the light of metallic agony, shooting through his nervous system, consuming him completely. A conquest that allows no silent subjugation.

 _Breaking, uh-oh, dontgiveindontgiveupnotyounot_ now _!_

His screams of pain mix with her cry of horror,

_I'm so sorry, Ziva!_

mix and mingle and melt down

_I won't break._

until all that's left is a sea of red-dotted blackness

_Don't close your eyes,_

that makes him drift away,

_I'll be a good boy!_

granting him escape from the final, penetrating abasement.

~ ~ ~

Later, much later, when they will have been saved long ago, Tim will occasionally catch himself standing in front of the mirror,

_Good boy. That's it._

head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on the collection of jagged scars right above his hipbone until he believes they stare right back at him, reading,

_Eighteen ways to break you._

“Failure.”

They're meant to mock him, and they succeed. He closes his eyes in the futile attempt to chase away Ziva's face, the tears in her eyes as she carves the letters into his flesh, gun against her forehead. The very gun. His gun, held by his own, shaky hands.

He didn't break.

_I_

Did.

Not.

_broke._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **Kinky Prompts** , Table One, Prompt #12: Fuck Or Die.
> 
> Brainstormed with the amazing **libelle201** and **Porter** , reviewed by the fantastic **HoneyAndVinegar** , and beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Visit my LJ-community [Bunny Bash](http://bunnybash.livejournal.com) to leave me a prompt at any time.]
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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